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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024042">I Only Have Eyes For You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeses/pseuds/jeses'>jeses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Only Have Eyes For You [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Team Fortress 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Falling In Love, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Kind of a songfic, Kissing, Music, Mutual Masturbation, On the short side, Other, Reader's gender is not specified, Reader-Insert, brief mutual masturbation scene, reader smokes like once</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:27:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeses/pseuds/jeses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout is your teammate.<br/>Nothing more, nothing less, until he starts sitting with you at night and talking to you more.</p><p>Short glimpses into an evolving relationship.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Scout (Team Fortress 2)/Reader, Scout (Team Fortress 2)/You, extremely brief mention of heavy/medic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I Only Have Eyes For You [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2229501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi there!! This is my first tf2 fic so I hope I have done Mr. Scout justice O_O. I'm sorry if any characters are ooc I panic about that a lot but please enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first real conversation.</p><p>Thanks to Griffin for beta reading for me :')</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The best time of the day is when everyone settles in for the night for bed, and you’re able to sneak out to the rec room and listen to your records. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t forbidden by any means for you to do so during the day, but everyone is so loud and all Pyro ever wants to listen to is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. </span>
  </em>
  <span>While there’s nothing wrong with the Beatles, they did get a bit old after the constant, numerous replays. No one in town sold a record player and even though you put in a request for one of your own it never arrived, leaving all ten of you to share one single record player. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the sun set over the desert, leaving a chill throughout the base that forced everyone to retreat to the comfort of their rooms, you were given free reign for your music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is where you are now, your quilt wrapped around your shoulders and a book in your hand. It's a small, old, worn out paperback- something Heavy recommended for you a while back but that you've just gotten around to start reading. You've made a nice seat on the floor, back against the shelf that holds the record player, where it's just quiet enough for you to hear. At last you settle in and flip open to the first page when you're interrupted by a voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doin’ up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The familiar Boston drawl belongs to Scout, who stands in the doorway of the rec room. He’s looking down at you with bags under his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listening to my records,” is your simple explanation. He nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool, cool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't immediately fill the silence with chatter which is... certainly odd for Scout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is.. is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He immediately opens his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! No, nothing’s wrong. Just tired. Can’t really sleep. It's too cold. You're cold, right? Oh, well, yeah, ‘ya got the blanket on. I have, uh, a hard time sleeping when there’s no sound, uh.. Is it- I'm just gonna lay down on the couch! It'll get me tired, then I'll just go, uh, lay down,” he spurts all at once, vomiting out his words in a much more familiar fashion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing. Are you sure I'm not bothering you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already throwing himself down onto the couch which faces your little nook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope! Not at all. You're helpin’ actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, you really don't get a chance to speak to Scout one-on-one. You're always with the others so it's almost odd to be alone with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he just lays there on his back, hands clasped over his gut while he stares up at the ceiling. It's only a few moments until he’s speaking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey- uh, what song’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Um-” you listen for a moment. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Music, Maestro, Please! </span>
  </em>
  <span>It's The Flamingos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's one of your favorite vinyls, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Flamingos Serenade, </span>
  </em>
  <span>one you brought from home once you signed on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never heard it! It sounds real pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I usually keep this one in my room. I’d hate for something to happen to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do this often?” He asks and you nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost every night, actually..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's kind of.. nice, you admit, to have someone to talk to. It’s a rarity to speak one-on-one with someone in a somewhat-cramped base of ten people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You return to your book with Scout’s talking ceasing. After you’ve made it fifteen pages without hearing anything you think he’s asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you even find out about these guys?” his voice cuts through the music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Flamingos?” you question, looking up from the pages and seeing him nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I first heard them at my prom, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t go to prom,” Scout remarks, crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn't?” You ask, tapping your toe along to the beat of the song echoing throughout the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head jerkily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t even wanna go anyways. I asked Ruth- she was this real pretty girl from down the street- to go with me, but she just laughed in my face! Didn't bother going after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ouch. That wasn't very nice of her,” you agree. “Prom’s supposed to be fun. Puppy love, and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you go with anybody?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod, and your ears pick up on </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm in the Mood for Love. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm in the mood for love</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Simply because you're near me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Funny, but when you're near me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm in the mood for love.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was our ‘prom song,’ actually. We broke up a long time ago, but it'll be kind of special to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout nods slowly and turns on his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go... go to sleep now,” he murmurs, and within moments he’s asleep, hat still perched on his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's there sleeping still when you eventually stand up and stretch to head back to your cramped little bed. You look at him for a moment, a heaviness in your stomach in sympathy at how he's laying there with no blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You pull yours from your shoulders and lay it on top of him. For a second you're scared he’s going to wake, but he doesn't, just curling tighter into your quilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You have an extra in your room. You'll be fine. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tysm for reading!! I have a playlist made of the songs that show up (even briefly) in this work!<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4arO8yder2wPdpIfLOrdAm?si=PYjm4LzqTBSF2wVo65PcsQ<br/>Comments are appreciated :^)<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He "saves" you.<br/>(tw: blood and mentions of injuries)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You’re cradling a broken arm and burns are kissed along your shoulder and back. A few other members of the team are waiting outside the infirmary for their turn with Medic. They’re all worse off than you with the exception of Scout, maybe, who’s just missing a tooth or two and brandishing a black eye. Sniper’s got a few large slivers of wood embedded in the side of his face dangerously close to his eye, and Soldier and Demo are both missing a few fingers. Soldier, Demo, and Scout talk excitedly among each other, a little friendly teasing directed towards Scout. You won the match so the few remaining injuries sustained by the team are practically nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The infirmary door opens, and Medic examines the lot of you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soldier. And, ah... Herr Demo. Please. I’ll see you both now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s about time! This is worse than when Pyro cut my foot off,” Soldier harrumphs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye, it was an accident, lad. Let it go,” Demo comforts him, the door swinging shut behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s just you, Scout, and Sniper. Sniper is never one to talk much unless he’s knocked back two or three beers. He doesn’t much look in the mood for talking right now, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout is glancing between you two, finally deciding to slide into the seat next to yours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Scout grins. “Y’see how I killed that stupid Pyro right near the end? The one that got’ya right there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He points at the charred skin on your shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I did. Thanks for that, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t recall another time that Scout had stepped in to save anyone, especially not you, when he insisted on constantly being on the front lines of battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was super kickass, right? They were like, all ready to kill you, and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was like-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His story is cut off by the emergence of Soldier and Demo, fingers freshly regenerated, and Medic calling Sniper’s name. Sniper rises wordlessly, and Soldier and Demo are already rushing off to eat whatever Heavy’s prepared for dinner tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really saved my ass,” you admit after thinking about Scout’s actions again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The opposite team’s Pyro leaned over you ever so menacingly, them jumping at the chance to scald you. You had no way to fight back with your broken arm. They had already pulled the trigger, flames spewing from the end while you closed your eyes and turned away. You accepted that you’d be stuck in respawn for a bit longer than you’d like with the end of the match, until a loud, disgusting crunch filled the room and the flames subsided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good one, huh?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Scout revealed himself once you’d opened your eyes, his metal bat still clenched in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now you were both sitting and waiting outside the infirmary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I did! Y’know.. Ya could repay me. Maybe with a trip into town?” Scout suggests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A trip into town? Sure. Just let me know when.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Scout exclaims, and you can’t help but smile at his excitement. “You ain’t gonna regret it. Y’ever been to the Teufort Tom Jones museum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Teufort has a Tom Jones museum?” you raise a brow. The pain in your arm subsides due to the distraction of entertaining conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah! You’re looking at the sole, pro- prop, uh... propeller!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Proprietor,” you gently correct with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, whatever that is. Anyways, you’ll have’ta come see it. It’s kinda the coolest thing since sliced bread.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sniper slips past you two and you hear Medic calling you in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see ya after dinner,” Scout waves you goodbye. You return it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Medic greets you with a simple hello and asks about your injuries and sits you down on the table- standard procedure for him. Usually anxiety will fill you at the thought of Medic’s inevitable question to experiment on you- at least he asks sometimes- but instead you feel.. excitement. Why are you excited?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll see ya after dinner.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout. Scout wants to sit by you again later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, are you finally coming around to the idea of a baboon’s occipital lobe?” Medic grins and you snap out of your thoughts to shake your head vigorously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe next time, then.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tysm for reading!! I have a playlist made of the songs that show up (even briefly) in this work!<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4arO8yder2wPdpIfLOrdAm?si=PYjm4LzqTBSF2wVo65PcsQ<br/>Comments are appreciated :^)<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He goes with you on a trip to town.<br/></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Whoa!” Scout shouts. “You got a car?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” You raise a brow at his enthusiasm. “You don't have one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I send all my money back home to my ma. And I just get a ride from Engie or Snipes. I didn't even know you had a car!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod, dangling your keys from your finger. You're the “proud owner” of a little red Corvette, one of the first purchases you made with the lofty pay you earned here. Sometimes you just have to get away, and be alone, and how better to do that than in style?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout leaps over the open top, not even bothering to open the door before he's settling into the passenger seat. Joining him not nearly as smoothly by actually entering your car properly, you shove the key in the ignition and start the engine. It purrs alive, Scout’s grin visible in the corner of your eye. For a moment you feel very cool, almost too cool, and pleased with his reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” you finally speak, having to slightly raise your voice over the sound of the engine. “Where do you want to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh...” he begins, brows furrowing in thought. “I’m kinda hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know a good diner in town. It's not that far of a drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By not that far, you mean about an hour. Unless you speed- which you will on the empty desert roads- then, it often only takes forty minutes. As soon as you pull out Scout starts to talk about his performance in battle earlier that day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and then I got the stupid backstabbing scum bag right across the head! You should’a been there! Didn't even know what hit him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches over and turns the radio on, one of the only stations that reaches out to the base set as the default. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I love this song!” He exclaims, and you listen in. Oh, it's something Tom Jones, you recognize by his voice. You recall Scout’s claim of Tom Jones being his father, but he's only a few years older than Scout at the most. Of course there's also the matter of Spy being his actual father, which it seems everyone besides Scout knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My, my, my Delilah</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why, why, why Delilah</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So before they come to break down the door</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Forgive me Delilah I just couldn't take anymore</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout taps his hands against his lap and the dashboard to the rhythm of the song. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know Tom Jones is my pa?” Scout grins over the sound of the radio and the wind rushing past your ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” You play along. “That's cool.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud, brassy matador-esque trumpet solo mixes with smooth, high pitched notes gliding from the violins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Not to brag or anything, but I met him once, y’know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's not your place to tell him, so you continue to just agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What song is this?” You ask him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, this one’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Delilah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It's about this guy finding out his girl’s cheatin’ on him, right? He waits outside her door </span>
  <em>
    <span>all night</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then kills her! And then the cops come and arrest him. Kinda harsh a’him, if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. A touch too far,” you chuckle in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The desert air feels great tonight, a welcome solace from the usual dry blistering heat that bears down overhead. There isn't another car on the road for miles, just you and Scout, cruising a bit too fast than legal. Who's to say anything, though? The cactuses that flash by faster than a blink? The tumbleweed on the side of the road, the coyote that emerges from its den at the rising of the moon? Or, God forbid, one of those lead-poisoned fools they call a police officer in Teufort? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No one could say anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything feels too big for a moment until Scout speaks up and tears you from your thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” He raises a brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah,” you respond. “Just thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout seems to accept this answer and looks out at the passing landscape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyways, I ever tell ‘ya about that time I hit a coyote?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can drive?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah! I'm the best driver around,” he gloats, cockily crossing his arms over his chest and letting a smug grin dance onto his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This leads him into a story about one time, before you were hired, he hit a coyote with Engie’s truck and was no longer allowed to drive on his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time you arrive at the diner his story is finishing up, drawn on far longer than needed with his interruptions to tell other stories that all tangle back to his original point. Only a car or two are parked outside, neon lights illuminating the fairly small building that houses the diner. A semi truck is across the street, the restaurant being a “popular” late-night dining location for everyone around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside it reeks of stale smoke and grease, music humming in the background from the jukebox. Right now it sounds like Patsy Cline’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crazy </span>
  </em>
  <span>is about halfway over. The only seat taken at the moment is at the bar by a rough looking guy who must be the truck driver. He’s chatting up the waitress, equally as rough looking, who spares you and Scout a passing glance while you take a seat at a booth in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna get breakfast or dinner?” He asks with a cheeky grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.. not sure,” you laugh a little in response. It was an unexpected question you’re not sure how to answer right away. In fact, you're not even sure of what time it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you getting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout seems delighted you've asked him with how his eyes glimmer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna get a burger, right? And a stack of pancakes on the side. Best ‘a both words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's... smart,” you finally conclude. Your words seem to really stroke his ego. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know! I'm kinda an expert on this stuff,” he sits back with a big, buck toothed grin. “Growin’ up my ma worked at a diner so I spent a lotta time there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. She did that and raised you and your.. six brothers?” You try to recall the exact number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seven!” He corrects but not in a way to make you feel bad. “Yeah, Ma’s a real strong lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last the waitress makes her way to your booth, nervously eyeing both of your uniforms neither of you had been bothered to change out of. The people of Teufort despised you and your teammates. Mostly since Soldier had been the one to cause tens of thousands of dollars of property damage, Pyro frequently burning trash and, well, other things around town...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drops two menus in front of you both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to drink?” She asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll have a Coke,” Scout speaks up first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don't got Coke, hun, is Pepsi fine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she turns to you, you give her your answer that you want a strawberry milkshake. She nods, and then she's off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A milkshake?” Scout asks, bouncing his leg underneath the table with such vigor it shakes the booth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that not allowed?” You crack a joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just didn't think I’d ever see ya drink a milkshake. I didn't think I'd ever eat with ya outside of meals at the base.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's smiling a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I never thought we'd be friends outside of work, yet here we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His smile grows into a big grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends? I mean- I mean, yeah! Of course we’re friends!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout leans back in his seat and crosses his arms in an attempt to act cool. Your ears pick up on the new song playing on the jukebox. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You showed me how to do</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Exactly what you do</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I fell in love with you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I love this song!” You perk up. Scout tilts his head and his eyes wander off while he tries to listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What song is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>You Showed Me </span>
  </em>
  <span>by The Turtles. It’s a pretty new release. I'm surprised they've got it here already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like music, huh?” Scout raises a friendly brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it obvious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's not much to do around here besides read and listen to music, so..” you shrug. “I do a lot of both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, music smarty-pants expert, who’s your favorite band?” Scout grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My favorite band?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You give it a moment of thought, every song you've listened to swirling through your mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can't pick a favorite,” you finally decide. “Why pick a favorite when there's so much variety out there? Everything’s good in it’s own way, and when I enjoy it all, it's hard to pick a favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout sits blankly for a second digesting your words, but before he can respond the waitress is setting a large strawberry milkshake down in front of you and a Cok- Pepsi down in front of Scout. She takes your food orders and again she's off, snatching the menus from the side of the table and returning to her spot behind the bar opposite her trucker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you like all kinds’a music, huh?” Scout asks, sipping his cola with a straw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod, partaking in your milkshake. It's good, surprisingly, for such a shoddy place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like.. what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately he launches you into a tirade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a band I got to see live while I was doing some contract work. They’re called Pink Floyd. I got to see them on tour when I did a job in London. I swear, they're going to be huge. I'm just waiting to finally get their record. I put in a magazine order for it as soon as it came out in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rolling Stone</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I haven't gotten it yet. You know, it always takes forever to have anything screened through security.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout nods knowingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pink Floyd?” He repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You'll have to listen to them with me when it gets here. It might not be your style, but they're certainly a good band. And then there’s also classics I like, like Elvis, The Platters, and some old country music, too, like Woodie Guthrie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You take another thick swallow of your milkshake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough about my music taste. What's your favorite band, then, Scout? Do you like any other artists besides Tom Jones?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I do! Of course. Uh... Oh! Yeah. My ma used to always play records from this one French guy. Charles, uh.. Charles.. something with a 'A’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aznavour?” You suggest and his eyes light up and he nods excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Charles Aznavour. I don't even know where the hell she got the records from, since our record store nearby sure as hell didn't have no French guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I actually have one of his older albums. I picked it up at a second hand store. You're welcome to have it, if you want. I think it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>Le feutre taupè</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your pronunciation is less than stellar but Scout doesn't seem deterred at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's the album! Really? You'd let me have it? Gee, thanks! Y’know, I speak a little French,” he boasts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods proudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My ma made me learn when I was real young. It was kinda hard and I can't really read it, but I can pick up on what people’re saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you understand Spy when he talks in French?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sneaky grin spreads across his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! And that snake bastard doesn't even know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the waitress returns and sets your food in front of you, few words are spoken, since most of your effort is put towards eating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But you feel.. Comfortable. At ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the world might feel too big, at the moment it feels like it’s just you, Scout, the waitress and her trucker, and the diner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, oddly enough... it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tysm for reading!! I have a playlist made of the songs that show up (even briefly) in this work!<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4arO8yder2wPdpIfLOrdAm?si=PYjm4LzqTBSF2wVo65PcsQ<br/>Comments are appreciated :^)<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He helps you clean.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heavy is the last one to leave the dining area, after your discussion of the book he loaned you. While you're glad you didn't have to cook, you're <em> not </em> glad about it being your night to clean after dinner. Dishes are piled high in the sink, the leftovers of Engie’s chili and cornbread stuck to pots and pans still on the stovetop. At least since everyone was crowded around the television watching <em> Get Smart </em>you’re able to tug the record player and radio into the kitchen to listen to music while you clean. Tonight, instead of having to worry about flipping a record over with wet hands, you decide to listen to the radio. </p><p>The music starts almost immediately after the ending of the nightly news. You barely catch the last few seconds of it. The first song of the night is a popular one, <em> Proud Mary </em>by Creedence Clearwater Revival. It’s a catchy tune, for sure, with it’s swamp rock sound and you find yourself dancing a little while scooping leftovers into some new Tupperware. While you were never invited to a Tupperware party or whatever to get a set, you have no doubts about a company like Mann Co. being able to get their hands on it. </p><p>
  <em> Cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Pumped a lot of pane down in New Orleans </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I never saw the good side of the city </em>
</p><p>
  <em> 'Til I hitched a ride on a river boat queen </em>
</p><p>Sure, you may not be sitting in a bayou somewhere, but <em> Proud Mary </em>is reminiscent of the numerous little jobs here and there you took before ending up here as a mercenary. Being on the run along with draft dodgers and criminals... life underneath multiple aliases hiding from the law had its charm, sure.</p><p>But life here is steady. Stable. Guaranteed. </p><p>Not to mention it pays well.</p><p>A few more songs pass, and you’ve started scrubbing away at the dishes stagnating in once-warm water when you hear the door open.</p><p>“The leftovers are in the fridge,” you say, not bothering to turn around from the sink. More than likely it’s Sniper, here to graze after everyone else has already finished eating.</p><p>“Uh, I already ate..”<br/>
It’s Scout’s voice, and you turn around this time. He’s leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed.</p><p>“Oh, what’s going on?”</p><p>“Nothin’,” he says, trying to act cool. “Um.. did’ya.. Did’ya need any help?”</p><p>You look around at the freshly cleaned counters and table, and then you realize he’s talking about the dishes.</p><p>“You’re offering to help me wash dishes? The one task that you said was worse than doing laundry?”</p><p>“Hey! It’s not <em> that </em>bad-”</p><p>“Scout. I’m fine. I really don’t need any help,” you offer up a smile.</p><p>“I’ll dry ‘em off for you.”</p><p>He’s very persistent, but you give way and shrug, tugging the dishrag from your pocket and tossing it to him. As expected he catches it with ease as if it were a baseball and then he’s at your side, drying off a glass cup with hesitance. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you but you resume your scrub at some stubborn, burnt on chili at the bottom of the pot.</p><p>“Hey, music smarty-pants,” he speaks up. “What song is dis?”</p><p>One thing you’ve learned from the last month or so of sitting at night with Scout is that he takes immense joy from hearing you identify a song on the radio. You give it a listen, and luckily you’ve caught the beginning of a popular song. The guitar is gentle at first.</p><p>“<em> Crimson and Clover </em>,” you hum right before the singer starts.</p><p>
  <em> Ah, now I don't hardly know her </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I think I could love her </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Crimson and clover </em>
</p><p>At the utterance of the title of the song Scout lights up, and you can’t hide the smile on your face, either.</p><p>“Damn! You’re real good at this. Oh! Who sings it, though?”</p><p>
  <em> Ah when she comes walking over </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now I've been waitin' to show her </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Crimson and clover over and over </em>
</p><p>“Tommy James and The Shondells. Come on, you’ll have to give me a harder one. This song was played so much last month.”</p><p>He doesn’t say anything else until the next song comes on.</p><p>“Okay, what about dis one?”</p><p>You’re greeted with Jim Morrison’s harsh voice, keyboard and edgy guitar.</p><p>“This is another easy one, Scout,” you smile. “You’ve never heard <em>Back Door Man?</em> The Doors?”</p><p>As soon as you say the song title Morrison sings the line where he proclaims himself a “back door man.”</p><p>Music helps the time pass, you occasionally answering the names of songs and their artists when Scout so requests.</p><p>Luck has you where as soon as you’ve put up the last dish, the familiar opening to a song plays through the grainy speakers. Mallet runs up and down a xylophone ring out. </p><p>“Oh!” You light up, wiping your hands off. “I love this song! It’s <em> Never Can Say Goodbye, </em>by The Jackson 5. Have you ever heard of them?”</p><p>Scout shakes his head, but he seems to take joy in you taking joy in the song. </p><p>
  <em> Never can say goodbye </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No, no, no, no </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Never can say goodbye </em>
</p><p>Oh, hearing a good song puts you in a good mood, and before you can think, you’re grabbing Scout by the hand and pulling him along to dance with you. You’re doing a dance similar to the Hully Gully, your entire upper body grooving to the beat.</p><p>
  <em> Even though the pain and heartache </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Seems to follow me wherever I go </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Though I try and try to hide my feelings </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They always seem to show </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Then you try to say you're leaving me </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I always have to say no </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell me why is it so </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That I never can say goodbye, no, no, no, no, now </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Never can say goodbye </em>
</p><p>You hardly even notice you’re singing along to the song, a dumb grin plastered across Scout’s face while you lead him across the kitchen. </p><p>
  <em> Every time I think I've had enough </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And start heading for the door </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There's a very strange vibration </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Piercing me right through the core </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It says, turn around, you fool </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You know you love him more and more </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tell me why is it so </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Don't wanna let you go </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I never can say goodbye girl </em>
</p><p>You continue to dance with Scout, him laughing at how you sing into a clean spatula as if you’re singing to him.</p><p>“Here, let me show you how it's done!” Scout grins and you pass him the spatula. As soon as he puts it near his mouth you remember he has never heard this song before and he's stumbling through the words, saying them a second after they're sung. </p><p>“I keep thinking that our problems soon are all gonna work out,” he's trying to sing, his pitch way off while he hurriedly processes each word and spits it back out. The scene of Scout attempting to sing has you doubling over in laughter, your hand hovering over your mouth in an attempt to muffle it. </p><p>“Hey, quit laughin’!” says Scout through his own laughter. He keeps going, picking up where he left off. </p><p>“Can’t do with you or without! Tell me why, is it so-” he's singing this time, his accent thick through all of his choppy words. Your laugh turns into a wheeze and tears prick at the corner of your eyes. </p><p>“Oh, you think ya can do better, huh?” Scout’s handing you back the spatula. You take it and through tears you continue singing. </p><p>“I never can-” you try to start but your own snort cuts you off. “Can say goodbye, girl!”</p><p>The song ends far too quickly and you're finally able to breathe, dropping the spatula in the drawer it's held in. </p><p>“Well,” you sigh, soreness in your cheeks setting in already. “Did you want to come outside with me? I usually have a smoke after dinner.”</p><p>It’s a little unhealthy ritual you have after washing the dishes, to relax, really. Just one. You’re pleased when he agrees to come with you. </p><p>Scout, against all of your former beliefs, is good company. He’s entertaining, funny, a good listener, surprisingly, since a lot of the time it seems like he’s always talking.</p><p>“How in the hell do you know so much about music ‘n stuff?” is his first question once you’ve settled outside, perched on the loading dock underneath the stars. </p><p>“It’s kind of dumb,” you laugh dryly. “But I used to be in a band. Long before all of.. this.. happened. I was a teenager then, but I could play the guitar like no one’s business. I used to write all our songs, and I’d listen to a lot of music from other bands to get inspiration.”</p><p>“What happened?” He practically gasped, enthralled by your detail-lacking storytelling.</p><p>“We were on the fast track to getting famous, playing at nightclubs all over. At least until I got caught up with the wrong crowd, took a few too many drugs, went on the run from the law...”</p><p>His eyes widen at your admittal.</p><p>“That’s- that’s so cool! You can play the freakin’ guitar! But, uh, yeah. I know what ‘ya mean by runnin’ from the law and gettin’ stuck in the wrong crowd, and all dat. Happened to me too.”</p><p>“Well, maybe we have more in common than I thought,” a little smile tugs at the corner of your lip. You take a quick drag from the cigarette pinched between your pointer and middle finger.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe we do got some stuff in common. You like baseball?”</p><p>“I can’t say I've got an opinion. It's a sport. You're a big baseball fan, right?”</p><p>He nods excitedly. </p><p>Your cigarette is nearly finished.</p><p>You find that you don't want him to leave.</p><p>So, in a move you never thought you'd make, you speak up. </p><p>“Tell me about baseball. I want to hear it all.”</p><p>Scout’s eyes light up like a child's on Christmas morning, and you lean back and light another cigarette. </p><p>“Oh! Really? Usually no one wants to hear about it, but you're new so I'll give you the rundown!”</p><p>At this he launches into a long winded explanation of the sport in its entirety, branching off to talk about his favorite players and teams. </p><p>“-my favorite’s gotta be the Sox! Boston Red Sox, man, they’re awesome! And my favorite player, well from last season’s roster, Tony Conigliaro! But he’s-”</p><p>Scout’s speech fades into nothing more than far off words since you're a bit more focused on staring at him. You rarely see him without his cap. When did he take it off?</p><p>The moonlight casts down onto his face, illuminating his boyishly handsome features you never quite noticed before. Scout’s.. handsome. </p><p>“-and then one time for my birthday, Tommy got us tickets to the game, and we went to Fenway Park, and I got a hotdog! You never lived ‘til you've had a Fenway Frank. That’s what they call ‘em.”</p><p>“Maybe you’ll have to take me to a baseball game sometime. Maybe next furlough,” you suggest, unable to hide your smile. His excitement is rubbing off onto you. </p><p>He certainly makes no attempt to hold back his own grin at your suggestion. </p><p>“You'd really go?!”</p><p>Something flutters in your chest and you nod anyways, trying to ignore the feeling. It's the same feeling right before you fight, moments right before the countdown timer hits one and the doors creak open. Like one of Medic’s doves is stuck in your abdominal cavity, trying hard to break free by rearranging your organs with each flap of its wings. </p><p>It only gets worse when Scout leans over and throws his arms around you, in a hug that nearly makes you drop your cigarette. </p><p>With your free arm you hug him back, patting his back. </p><p>And then it's over as soon as it's started and he’s sitting back in his place. </p><p>“You're real swell, y’know that? I thought ‘ya were gonna be some total square. But ‘ya let me sit with ‘ya and ‘ya talk to me and don’t treat me like some kid.”</p><p>You take another drag from your cigarette- this one a long one, so the nicotine will hopefully steady your shaking hands.</p><p>“No problem,” you try to say nonchalantly. </p><p>
  <em>Oh, shit.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tysm for reading!! I have a playlist made of the songs that show up (even briefly) in this work!<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4arO8yder2wPdpIfLOrdAm?si=PYjm4LzqTBSF2wVo65PcsQ<br/>Comments are appreciated :^)<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>You throw him a "prom."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Spy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's just you and him in the hallway, him stopping in his quiet, stealthy tracks. Spy is another person you lack a rapport with. He's hardly around unless it’s poker night and he wants to swindle you and the others out of money or alcohol that he doesn’t need. You barely see him out on the battlefield since he's always invisible or disguised as the opposite team. Although you are lucky in that somehow, you got the enigmatic Frenchman into owing you a favor. Nothing big, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I ask of you a small favor. As a... friend, if you would call it that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Depends on how dangerous it is,” you said apprehensively. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You will be delivering something for me. Easy, no?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Before you could further question the risk he’d be putting you in, he continued to speak. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It is a necklace. All you will have to do is leave the box in the mailbox, along with a letter. That is it. The location is not but five minutes from your destination.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now should probably not be the time to crack a joke but you do anyways. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Having me drop off your love letters? Sure. I'll do it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The mission Miss Pauling sent you off on was in Boston, of all places. You wondered why she sent you instead of Scout at the time, but now you see how the mission could be too personal. And now, with Spy cornered in the hallway, a cigarette dangling from his lips, you're ready to ask him for a favor of your own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” He finally responds, eyeing you cautiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to cash in that favor. It's nothing big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cocks a brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what can I possibly help you with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, well.. some advice, really. That's about it. And maybe a little holding a ladder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives a glance up and down the hallway, maybe a tic of his, but eventually he returns to look at you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we leaving the base?” Spy continues to question you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think we have everything here. Look, I.. I want to do something for Scout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Are we putting a ketchup packet underneath the seat of his toilet? Or are we filling a bucket with water and placing it above his door?” Spy inquires, maybe a bit too excitedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I- I want to do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>for </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. Are you okay? Those were oddly specific..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spy waves it off with a flick of his hand and lifts his cigarette from his lips, holding it between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assumed you were getting revenge on him for a prank, and you needed a man of my calibre and stealth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can't hide the amused smile that crosses your face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I want to set up a prom for him. Remember when you had Pyro and Sniper and Demo and I make all those decorations for Miss Pauling and Scout’s date, and then that bread monster attacked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Miss Pauling and Scout are having another date? Surprising.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! They’re not on a date! It's just.. I feel bad for him. He didn't get to go to prom when he was in high school. He didn't get to actually enjoy his prom here as a dance and not a monster-killing event. I just want to put some lights up and need some help moving some furniture around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spy is amused, and it shows in the little smirk pulling the corners of his lips up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well. Although I'm unsure as to why you're asking me. That favor could have been used on something much more.. valuable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You start walking and he follows, stalking behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for starters, you're the only one awake. And you've probably got the best eye for design.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything falls into place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strings of little shimmering lights are stapled to the ceiling, draping overhead and hanging like falling raindrops. You've pushed the couch aside, leaving a wide open area for dancing, the lights dimmed pleasantly low. Spy seems a bit too pleased with the mediocre decorations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I imagine he will be pleased, if not distracted by the lights,” he comments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spy doesn't answer your question but continues with his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I wanted Scout to have a real prom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I know that, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You open your mouth to speak but no answer comes to your brain. Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you do this? Scout hadn't had a magical moment like your prom. That was the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, most of your teammates probably hadn't, right? What made Scout so special? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did you decide to follow a spur of the moment decision? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just to make Scout happy? Maybe? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Based on a sad story he briefly mentioned... two months ago?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do not have to answer that question,” Spy finally relieves you of the pressure, taking one last drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray on the pushed-aside coffee table. “Do give it some thought once you have a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He suddenly gives a glance behind you and cloaks hurriedly. You turn, and there in a second’s time is Scout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey- what's all this?” He asks, his eyes shooting straight to the lights on the ceiling. Again you find yourself short of words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um- I just thought, well.. you said you didn't get to go to prom, and I know that you did something like this for Miss Pauling a while ago and then that bread monster attacked and you didn't even get to enjoy it, so... I thought it would be nice if we had, well.. a little prom for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, but in a way that isn't insulting. It’s in wonderment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did all'a this for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod once, still a tiny bit uneasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, come on, where’s da music?” He grins, his buck teeth sticking out in the slightest. For a brief moment, peeking around the corner behind Scout with a faint smile is Spy, before he disappears yet again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you turn the radio on, My</span>
  <em>
    <span> Girl </span>
  </em>
  <span>by the Temptations is playing but nearly over. You offer him your hand. He takes it, but stops for a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spy kinda taught me how'ta dance, but I'm still not, uh, very good. You ain't gonna laugh at me, are ‘ya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I'm not. Don’t worry,” you reassure him and lead him towards your makeshift dance floor. Scout looks down at your outfit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow! You look- you look real good tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Scout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Twist and Shout </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the first song to come on after the Temptations, the Beatles a familiar artist around the base. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You let go of his hand and you do a bit of the Twist- fitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know the Twist? Aw, man, me too!” He laughs a little, mirroring your motions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” You playfully raise a brow. “I thought you said you weren't good at dancing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not slow dancin’! If I knew all we was gonna do was Twist, I wouldn't have said that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The slow dance comes later,” you joke. Although it isn't much of a joke if you're serious, is it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every single song that plays is easy to dance to and you make a mental note to call in to the radio station or mail a letter in to thank the creator of the playlist for the evening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I Only Have Eyes For You </span>
  </em>
  <span>comes on soon, right after some tune you barely think about since you're having too good of a time dancing. You feel a bit brave, moving a bit closer to Scout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this the slow dance?” A rare uncertainty riddles his voice but you take the confident role and nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here. Take my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does, and you lean into him, pressing your body against his. A little flush of pink crosses his face. You hardly notice since you've already started dancing. He takes your lead, mimicking your steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My love must be a kind of blind love</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can't see anyone but you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I haven't heard ‘dis song in a while,” Scout notes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s one of my favorites,” you admit. “It's a pretty song.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Visions dance behind your eyes of your arrival at the base, the night spent driving through the desert while this song played over the radio. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are the stars out tonight</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't know if it's cloudy or bright</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I only have eyes for you dear</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The slow sway you two settle into is comforting, sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This’s real nice,” he murmurs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The moon may be high</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I can't see a thing in the sky</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I only have eyes for you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re staring into his eyes for what should have been an uncomfortably long time, but he can’t seem to tear his own gaze away from yours. Locked into the same rhythm, consistent rocking back and forth, his hand holding yours while the other rests on the small of your back...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don't know if we're in a garden</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or on a crowded avenue</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It's impossible not to feel the call of his lips, considering now that his eyes flick from your eyes down to your own lips for a brief moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are here</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And so am I </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In a haze you slide your hand up from where it rests on his shoulder to the junction where it meets his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe millions of people go by</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But they all disappear from view</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You almost think you're imagining him leaning in towards you, as if it's all a dream, but his touch is all too real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's your coworker. Your teammate. Your friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shouldn't kiss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those thoughts fly out the window with the closing of your eyes, your hand sliding up to cradle his jaw...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss is chaste, a barely-there brush, gentle, surprisingly, but his grip on your hand only tightens. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I only have eyes for you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He's the one to pull away, his eyes wide and face flushed. You don't think you'd ever seen him so red before, and for once, he doesn’t immediately start rambling on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” you mumble. The song ends and almost immediately afterwards something upbeat begins to play. It might be some new Simon and Garfunkel tune, and the mood is cut short when you release each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout just laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck. He's trying to say something but every time he opens his mouth he just closes it again. Oh, boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You messed up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um- I'm kind of tired,” you lie through your racing heart and clenched fists to hide the adrenaline causing you to shake a bit. “Did you have fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, yeah! Definitely,” he finally speaks, relief washing over his body in such an obvious way. “Thanks, y’know, for this. Um.. can I walk ‘ya to your room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would say yes but I've got to clean up. Thank you for offering-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll stay ‘n help! ‘Sides, you did all this for me. Least I can do is help, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want, then I won't say no,” you smile. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>T-t-tt-t-the kiss.. ,,,..,..,,,, finaelyy,,,<br/>One more chapter left!!<br/>Tysm for reading!! I have a playlist made of the songs that show up (even briefly) in this work!<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4arO8yder2wPdpIfLOrdAm?si=PYjm4LzqTBSF2wVo65PcsQ<br/>Comments are appreciated :^)<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It finally happens.<br/>(cw: the aforementioned mutual masturbation scene! if you want to skip it stop reading at "“Hey, even if it was, I wouldn’t complain,” he grins," and then continue after "He’s got his arms around you, holding you tight.")</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You're in trouble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You cannot stop thinking about Scout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been two weeks since you kissed him, and although you’re both acting like nothing happened, you’re feeling it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Every single love song that that God-forsaken radio station plays makes you think of his buck toothed grin and loud mouth. You can't stop sneaking glances at him during dinner or on the battlefield. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's beginning to affect your performance, although you don't fully realize the extent until Engie is saying something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Him and Pyro have invited you to his workshop after the day's battle and you agree, hoping for some kind of bonfire which is typical with an invitation to Engie's.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your hopes come true with Pyro’s insistent leading you outside. A large fire crackles and burns away, emanating pleasantly warm heat. A few blankets lay just far enough away where they won't catch fire easily, and you take a seat on one, staring into the flames. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Engie starts, as paternal as ever. “If there’s anythin’ on your mind, you know you can come to me, or Pyro, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re gettin’ concerned,” he finally admits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” You blink out of your fire-induced trance. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven't been doin’ as well as you usually do out there. Is somethin’ the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pyro grunts in agreement, the mask staring at you. Should you be honest? The silence is growing uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I'm fine,” you lie. Even behind his goggles you know he’s suspicious, and how Pyro crosses their arms only confirms their opinion on your answer, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Scooter say somethin’ nasty to ‘ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” You exclaim in response. “No, he didn't do anything.. why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you've been hangin’ around him a heck of a lot more recently. Thought maybe he did somethin’ that bothered ‘ya.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he's been doing a lot to bother you, you want to say. The worst thing is that he doesn't even try. He makes his jokes and crinkles the corners of his eyes when he grins and asks you about music-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Engie is calling you and Pyro shakes your arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're real out of it,” he shakes his head. “Somethin’s wrong. Now, you don't gotta tell me, but if it's gonna be affectin’ your performance, you gotta get that fixed. Or else y’know what’ll happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. You'll have your contract terminated and you'll be taken out to the desert and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ll</span>
  </em>
  <span> be terminated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pyro mumbles something for a second, digging into a pocket on their suit, and then pulls whatever they were retrieving out. Their rubber gloved hands grab one of yours gently and put their gift in your palm, leaving it there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a piece of crumpled up paper, faintly smelling of kerosene. Wordlessly you unfold it, revealing a pencil sketch of some sort. You squint your eyes to focus on it, and then you realize it's a sketch of yourself, behind the wheel of your Corvette driving down the highway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you draw this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-mm!” Pyro mumbles, shaking their head. “Scnnnt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scout drew this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pyro is pleased with your correct guess and claps their hands together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's a real nice picture,” Engie comments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heart above your head does not go unnoticed, and for a second your own heart skips a beat. Your face is flushing, an unfortunate blush crossing your cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You've just gotta little thing for Scoot, don’t’cha?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-No!” You sputter. “I don't. It's just a nice drawing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If my eyes aren't deceivin’ me, I do believe I saw a heart on that there drawin’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nope, no heart,” you sigh, burying your face in your hands. “Okay. Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven't noticed him practically fallin’ over his own two feet for ‘ya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You peek up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Engie laughs in his low drawl, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You've been so caught up in ‘yer own thoughts that ya hadn’t even noticed Scooter actin’ like a lovesick fool. I invited him too, to try ‘n solve some of ‘yer problems, but I see it ain’t somethin’ Pyro and I can help with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait- you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’re interrupted by someone speaking up behind you, at the door of the workshop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanted to talk’ta me, Hardhat?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Scout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You turn and glance at him, a smile breaking across his face once he realizes it's you beneath the blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Scooter, can ‘ya wait here for a bit? Pyro and I gotta go run an errand real quick. Don’t worry, you got company.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, yeah,” Scout shrugs, taking a seat near you by the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two rush inside and Engie gives you a final look through the window as if telling you to make a move and then the pair are gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So..” Scout begins to speak. “Nice night, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire crackles invitingly. Anticipation builds up in your gut. You have to tell him. Just... pull the bandage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as you go to open your mouth Scout cuts you off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, listen, uh.. I ain’t good at this stuff. At all. Ha. You probably knew dat, I mean, you were here when my whole thing with Miss Pauling didn't work out. And, uh, I know you probably don’t even feel da same way, and I'm gonna look like a stupid idiot, but I really- I really- I don't know why I can't say it! Listen, well, I.. I know it's kinda dumb, and we don't even know each other's real names, and we kill people for a living, but I.. I think you’re really swell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's made the move before you can, it seems, and when you don't answer right away he's nervously trying to scramble to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great talk! Uh, I’m just- gonna-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On impulse you reach out and grab his hand, the momentum behind your grasp working against his opposite direction to pull him down onto you. His feet slide out from underneath him and all of a sudden he's practically close enough for you to see his pores, your faces only inches apart. He's landed leaned over your lap, one arm on the other side of your hip and the other in your grasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were really going to leave before I could say anything?” You ask. Scout blinks, obviously surprised at this development. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I- yeah!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can't think of anything to say anymore so you just grab his face and kiss him again. It's nowhere near as gentle as your first one, with the brief clacking of your teeth and awkward positioning. Scout pulls away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, hold on, lemme get- here,” he says, adjusting his position so he's no longer precariously leaning over you. He wiggles so he's right next to you and then he's the one kissing you. He’s trying to be gentle, but he's rushing along, as fast as he is in every other facet of his life. His lips move quickly against your own, too passionate for a moment, and you have to stop him for a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow down,” you smile, patting the side of his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, come on!” Scout whines. “I've been wantin’ to kiss you again for, like, weeks!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well we’ll have plenty of time to do it from now on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems to take joy in this statement, not saying another word and this time trying to give you a gentle kiss. He’s slower when your lips meet, and you can tell he's trying to hold himself back. It's sweet of him. But even this is overcome when you slip your tongue into his mouth in a move of confidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, you're such a babe,” Scout groans in a gap between kisses. “C’mon..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You leave his lips and plant a wet smooch on the side of his neck, and that seems to do it for him since he’s pulling you into his lap with wrapped hands. Everything gets that much more intense, your bodies pressed against each other, sloppy kisses being exchanged...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in the name of Sam Hill is goin’ on out here?!” Engie exclaims, scaring you enough to cause you to scramble from Scout’s lap and reach for the gun on your hip that isn't there. Him and Pyro share a laugh, but then Engie straightens out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm glad y’all have, uh, heh, made ‘yer feelings clear, but can't ‘ya do it somewhere else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, come on!” Scout says, jumping up so hurriedly and grabbing your wrist this time, pulling you along at what feels like a sprint. You barely have time to wave goodbye to Pyro and Engie before you're inside, dragged through the empty hallways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we go to your room? Cause, uh, mine’s kinda messy-” he’s admitting but you grab him and kiss him again because with how the moonlight reflects off of his face casting shadows onto his handsome features, it's so hard not to. He's not against it at all, hands eagerly gripping your sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, my room’s right here,” you finally reply, barely pulling away from his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blindly you try and twist the handle and you get it, Scout pulling you inside. You both squeeze onto the small, twin sized bed, him laying right next to you on his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I've never met anyone like you,” you remark, turning onto your side to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breaks out in a toothy grin, and kisses the corner of your mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's why all the ladies like me,” he smirks, although you're unsure if it's because he's joking or if he's serious. You give it no more thought, since you're kissing him again and again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands wander up and down your sides, not necessarily in a sexual way, just... exploratory. You’re quick to mimic his motions, learning the feel of his abdomen. The angle of his jaw. The little stubble that covers his neck and chin too light to see but scratchy enough to feel, how his ears are so oddly warm... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we gonna get in trouble for this?” Scout asks, breaking the wordless embrace to pull back and look at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure,” you respond. “Engie didn’t seem to discourage it. I don’t remember anything in my contract about teammate relationships...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you actually read your contract?” Scout raises a brow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re the only one who did. Anyways, Heavy and the doc are a thing, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might be. They spend a lot of time together, but who knows? We could just... not tell anyone. It’ll be our secret. We’ll be like Heavy and Medic. Just until one of us finds out if it’s allowed or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. But whenever we ain’t on the base, I’m showin’ you off to everyone. And I mean it. Can’t believe I got ‘ya! Never thought you’d like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? I thought I overstepped! By kissing you that night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you did it outta pity or somethin’!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You break the sweet moment by managing to roll him onto his back, straddling his waist. The surprise on his face is so endearing while you plant your hands on his chest to steady yourself. “Really? That would just be cruel of me. Does this seem like pity to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, even if it was, I wouldn’t complain,” he grins. It’s at this moment you realize that something is poking you on the underside of your thigh and you doubt Scout has a gun in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you hard?” You ask unabashedly and he blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.. yeah? Kinda hard not to be when I got you on my lap,” he admits. There’s a brief moment where you both just stare at each other, and then you’re reaching down and brushing over the bulge in his pants. His breath hitches in his chest and his hands clench the sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really gonna- oh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’ve made fast work and he’s already in your hand, hot and firm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he croaks out. He lifts a hand to work his way into your pants. Everything begins to blur together, trying to keep your rhythm you’ve set with your grasp on him. He’s enthusiastic, grunts and pants and small affirmations escaping his lips all the while he’s touching you. You don’t even notice when he cums, splattering on the back of your hand and wrist, since you’re cumming not even a second later. White flashes behind your eyes and for a moment you feel temporary nothingness. You’re convinced you’ve left Earth, and once you return, you’re leaned over Scout, face buried in his neck. He’s got his arms around you, holding you tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pants out a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” he huffs, swallowing thickly. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the shortness of breath you laugh, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry your bed’s all messy now,” he apologizes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I’m on laundry duty this week,” you murmur. “Don’t even worry. I’ll.. get it later. I need to go wash up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. Uh... it’d look kinda weird if we slept here together tonight. I’m gonna head back to my room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, don’t worry. Can we lay for a little longer, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scout nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought ya wouldn’t ask. Y’wanna go into town this weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it!! That's the scout fic 😳😳<br/>I hope it was an enjoyable read!! I had SO much fun writing it.<br/>Thanks for reading!!!!<br/>And here is a link to the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4arO8yder2wPdpIfLOrdAm?si=PYjm4LzqTBSF2wVo65PcsQ<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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